


Working Late

by haymitch (noblydonedonnanoble)



Series: Alternate Hipster AU [2]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: AU within an AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/haymitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur positively hates this time of year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working Late

**Author's Note:**

> Elle once asked me if David and Arthur would have had a chance if Catherine never came into the picture. I think this fic speaks for itself in that respect.

                Arthur positively hates this time of year.

                It’s not that has anything against his job. Under normal circumstances, he sometimes is willing to go out on a limb and even say that he _loves_ his job. 50 weeks of the year, he really, sincerely loves his job.

                Those other 2 weeks, his life is a living hell. 2 weeks of working tirelessly, keeping outrageous hours and getting only a few hours of sleep each night. Working fucking weekends. Absolutely outrageous.

                When he first got this job, he figured that things would be easier once he got higher up. Moving from a cubicle to his own office was synonymous, in his mind, with watching others do the grunt work during the 2 Weeks of Hell (a term coined, of course, by Arthur).

                How very naïve.

                It’s nearly 7 o’clock, and his last co-worker has just left. Meanwhile, Arthur’s got about an hour’s worth of work left before he can even consider heading home.

                Arthur is so in the zone that he doesn’t even notice anyone’s entered his office until hands settle on his shoulders, at which point he jumps nearly a foot into the air and lets out a yelp. A phantom voice chuckles as the hands slide down to wrap around Arthur at the chest. “Hello to you too.”

                “You’re a fucking dick,” Arthur says, spinning his chair around so that he can look his assailant head-on. “Is it really so hard to announce your presence like a normal person?”

                David grins. “It’s more fun to surprise you.”

                “I am surprised,” Arthur concedes. He can’t help but smile too; it’s not easy, staying irritated with David.

                “Not as surprised as I was to see that you intentionally called me when the train was underground so that you could leave me a message to tell me how late you’d be working.” David rises to his full height and hops up to sit on Arthur’s desk. He crosses his arms and frowns sternly. “Why’d you do that?”

                “Because you would’ve tried to talk me out of it.” Arthur leans back in his seat and looks up at his companion, trying to match the stern demeanor.

                “Wrong.”

                Arthur raises his eyebrows, curiosity piqued. “Oh?”

                “Yeah. I wouldn’t have _tried_ to talk you out of it; I would have succeeded. And that’s why I’m here now.” David kicks Arthur in the shins lightly. “C’mon. It’s Friday night. You’re coming down here tomorrow as it is, so at least come home with me and unwind.”

                “I need to get this done, David.”

                Though Arthur attempts to dive back into his work, David slides across the desk, nudging the keyboard over and sitting in between Arthur and the monitor. “I rode the El back downtown to fetch you, and you’re not letting me fetch you.”

                He’s pouting. It’s not good when he pouts. Arthur finds it very difficult to say no to him when he pouts. This time, though, he stays strong. “No, I’m sorry. I really need to stay a while longer. Now would you please… move, maybe?” He tries to gently prod David away.

                For a few seconds, David considers this. Then, “Okay.”

                “Thank you.” Arthur breathes a sigh of relief, but it appears that this sentiment was premature. David climbs into his lap instead, wrapping his arms around his neck. “What are you doing?” Arthur exclaims.

                “You refuse to come home to unwind. So you can unwind here instead.” He tugs on Arthur’s tie, loosening it and then pulling it free.

                “David,” he hisses. “This is not the time. Someone could see.”

                At this, David chortles. “The only other person in this whole building is sitting at the front desk downstairs. No one’s gonna interrupt.” He leans in close and Arthur works very hard to suppress a groan as David begins to kiss and suck gently on his neck. He peppers kisses up and across Arthur’s jaw, and lingers with their lips only an inch apart. “Have I mentioned how much I like that waistcoat?”

                “Once or twice.” Arthur smirks, and tries to lean in for a kiss, but David leans back.

                “Seems a shame to remove it and discard it so carelessly.” He runs his fingers up and down the column of buttons. “Perhaps it _would_ be best if I went home, waited for you there. If I can stand to wait.”

                “You’re not funny.”

                “I’m very funny!”

                “Fine, you’re hilarious.” Arthur settles his hands at David’s waist and pulls him closer. “Now tell me, are you going to kiss me or not?”

                For such a simple question, it takes David ages to settle on an answer. And it’s not the one that Arthur was expecting, nor hoping for. “Not.”

                “What?”

                David climbs out of Arthur’s lap and goes around to the other side of the desk, sitting in a chair. “Nah, you’re right. It’s not appropriate here. I’ll just hang around until you’ve finished, then we can head home together.”

                “Okay…”

                Surely this is David playing some sort of game. Trying to get Arthur to make the first move, or trying to drive him crazy, or something. There’s got to be a catch.

                Arthur pulls his chair forward and tries to get focused.

                It would be easier if David weren’t sitting a few feet away. And if Arthur hadn’t already started imagining the things that he and David could do in this office in order to, as David so teasingly put it, _unwind_.

                Every few seconds, Arthur can’t help but glance up at his computer and look over at David. David’s never paying attention to him, though. Always staring at his phone, or doodling on a notepad that he promptly grabbed from the desk.

                After about five minutes, David clears his throat. “I’ll be right back; I just fancy a snack from the vending machine.”

                “Cool.” Arthur tries to sound nonchalant.

                “You want anything?”

                “Uh, no thanks, I’m not that hungry.” Arthur is starving, but he knows that the vending machines won’t be restocked until tomorrow, which means that weird trail mix and the ice cream are probably the only things left. He’ll wait until he can have a real dinner, thank you very much.

                He realizes the problem when David returns with an ice cream cone in hand—David is probably the most unintentionally crude consumer of ice cream that Arthur has ever met. It really can only be described as pornographic. And now he’s sitting in Arthur’s office, licking away at that ice cream as though this is nothing out of the ordinary.

                Arthur looks up to see David’s hollowed cheeks as he sucks some of the melted ice cream from the cone. That’s when he finally loses it. He jumps up and climbs across the desk, pulling David out of his chair and kissing him eagerly.

                When David starts to make a sound that quite closely resembles a laugh, Arthur pulls back, staring at him blankly. “What is it?”

                “I was beginning to think that I’d have to go get another ice cream cone.”


End file.
